


One Captain Cold, To Go

by SophiaCatherine



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: (the success of this may vary), F/M, Humor, Journalist Iris West, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Plot, Undercover Missions, hints of past westallen and past coldflash, past ambiguous relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:21:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23532979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiaCatherine/pseuds/SophiaCatherine
Summary: He smirks at the empty plastic cup. “May I treat you to another Captain Cold, Iris?” (Jitters and their stupid superhero-themed drink names. She liked it better when it was just called an iced macchiato.) He’s got a hot coffee of some kind, sprawling himself out in the broad armchair across from her.She aims a smirk of her own at him. “Someone talks a good talk about drink choices. Is that a Flash you’re having, Leonard?”
Relationships: Leonard Snart/Iris West
Comments: 29
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tobyaudax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tobyaudax/gifts), [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



> Sandrine prompted 'coldwest with Iris undercover chasing a story'; Tobyaudax prompted 'coldwest with one teasing the other about a favorite beverage'. _3 chapters_ of fic resulted. Also, I appear to be incapable of writing these two without Barry being a silent presence throughout, but this is definitely coldwest.

In a back alley in the slums of Central City, the wind lifts a newspaper from one end of the block all the way down to the next. From her car across the street, Iris West watches as it flaps up against the wall, blowing open under a yellow street light to reveal a headline - CENTRAL CITY: META TRAFFICKING EPICENTRE?

She settles back in her seat. There’s an iced coffee in the cup holder, a muffin on the dash, and jazz playing softly over the radio. It’s just how she always imagined her dad’s stake-outs. At least, until the night he debunked that idea, coming home snarling that he’d been sitting in a car for the past _five damn hours, Iris, and the captain wouldn’t even let us get coffee…_

There’s a noise, and she leans forward. For just a moment, she thought she saw movement in the alley - quick, like lightning. She takes a breath, shoving down the old memory it sparks. If anything was there, it’s gone now. Checking her watch, she mutters, “Dammit, Norvock,” and reaches over to change the radio station to something a little less soothing. Then she slumps deeper into the plush heated seat and closes her eyes. Just for a minute.

She jerks upright as a door behind opens. Bangs shut again. “Drive.” It’s a voice that knows how to give orders, and it’s familiar. But, half asleep, Iris can’t place it.

Blinking, she turns her head. “What the he—?” 

The intruder - _of course it is_ \- doesn’t even let her get a whole curse out. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t Iris West,” he drawls from the back seat, as if she’s surprised _him._ As if he hasn’t just waltzed into her car like - well, like Leonard Snart. “I _said,_ drive.”

She’s pulling out her phone when she catches sight of her passenger in the mirror. Snart is turned around, staring wide-eyed out of the window. He’s affecting an easy pose that gives nothing away, but his hand is tapping against the window in a fast, repeating pattern. 

She’s never seen Captain Cold scared before.

The word “Where?” is out of her mouth before her brain can kick in.

“Anywhere,” he growls. 

It’s a persuasive tone. Iris puts her foot on the gas. 

She’s tempted to drop him off in front of CCPD, like B— like the STAR Labs team would have, but something has her hand frozen on the wheel. He’s watching with knife-sharp focus for, what, cops? The mob? She doesn’t want to think about how many enemies Leonard Snart must have, even years after his death.

Reflected in the car mirror, she sees him turn with a sharp twist, leaning in towards her, and suddenly she has his enraptured attention. It’s both unsettling and a bit of a thrill to be the focus of that gaze. The thought is in her head before she can shove it down: _No wonder Barry liked that._

Snart’s face has shifted into his signature smirk, but there’s a hint beneath it of something nostalgic, even fond. “Ms. West. How are you?”

He looks much the same as when she last saw him. It’s been a long time, even if you don’t count the years he was dead, but he’s just as obnoxiously attractive as he ever was. She wonders if the time stream is what keeps him looking that young - and what other interesting effects it might have. “Snart. I didn’t know you were back in town. Up to your old tricks?” 

She thinks it’s a fair assumption, given that he’s just broken into her car. But Snart clasps two hands to his chest, one over the other, and Iris has to fight not to be charmed by his familiar overdramatics. “Ms. West, I’m hurt. Didn’t you hear? I’m _quite_ the hero these days.”

“Iris,” she corrects, but only because it’s a bit uncomfortable to have someone looking at her like that and calling her by her last name.

A sly smile creeps across his face. “Hmm. Please, call me Leonard, then.” 

She can’t believe she’s still driving, but Snart has the same commanding presence she remembers. “Where are we _going,_ Leonard? Is this a Legends thing?”

“Take the I-80 - we can stop once we’re past the city limits.” His head jerks round to the back window again. “I’m undercover. I was investigating a tip from a source. Started being followed - anonymous van, blacked-out windows. In my _extensive_ experience, that’s never good.” He glances over his shoulder at her, then quickly back to the window. “What are you doing here?”

She finds herself turning off Main Street towards the highway out of town. In a minute, she’s going to remember to be annoyed about all this. “I’m also investigating a lead, as it happens. _My_ source decided to stand me up tonight.” Iris reaches into a pocket and holds up a business card, snatching it back when he tries to take it from her. “I set up a media outlet a few years ago - the Citizen. I’m currently on the trail of some very bad guys.” 

She ignores the rush of exhilaration when he shoots her an impressed smile. Then something stern flickers across his face, and he leans in towards her again. “And just how dangerous are these very bad guys?”

She rolls her eyes at him in the mirror as she pulls onto the I-80. “Not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but I can take care of myself, thanks, Leonard.”

That, _of fucking course,_ is when the car behind them starts shooting.

* * *

  
They’re halfway to Keystone before they lose the other car.

“Stop here.” Apparently he still has a thing for giving orders. It’s just the kind of annoying she expects from Captain Cold. But she slows down, figuring that trusting his experience might be the wiser choice. 

She pulls up by a crumbling brownstone building on the edge of town. KC Jitters is the one branch of the ubiquitous coffee shop chain that’s always on the verge of going under, and the sign has a couple of lights out on the I and the S. “What’s _here?”_

He waves his hand with infuriating dramatic flair. “A place so dull, no one will come looking for us.” He smirks at the empty plastic cup in her car’s cup holder. “May I treat you to another _Captain Cold,_ Iris?”

At this rate, she’s going to injure herself with all the eye rolling. She gets out and shoves him in the direction of the door to Jitters.

A minute later, he sets a Captain Cold in front of her. (Jitters and their stupid superhero-themed drink names. She liked it better when it was just called an iced macchiato.) He’s got a hot coffee of some kind, sprawling himself out in the broad armchair across from her. “So, Iris. Tell me about this story.”

Iris finally realises why she’s been glaring at his drink. She aims a smirk of her own at him. “Someone talks a good talk about drink choices. Is that a _Flash_ you’re having, Leonard?”

For the briefest of moments, he freezes with his hand around the cup. He glances up at her and back down at this coffee. “There was a deal on,” he lies smoothly. He takes a huge, smug gulp, while Iris snorts. “But we weren’t talking about Barry. Although, if you wanted to…”

Now it’s her turn to freeze, the straw of her iced coffee still in her mouth. She glances up at hassled baristas taking orders at a counter identical to the one where she met him, so many times.

Leonard tilts his head, too much interest in his eyes. “He’s okay, right?” 

The thought that Barry might _not_ be okay seems to have him rattled already. It’s almost cute, but she has to put him out of his misery. “He’s fine. He got a promotion and a transfer a few years ago. He lives in Ivy Town.” 

“Really,” he drawls. “The Flash left Central City? And his family?” His eyes narrow at her. “His best friend?”

She knows it’s a tell, when her eyes drop to her plastic cup, but she can’t help it. This subject doesn't bring out the best in her, these days. “Can we talk about something else?”

There are clearly a thousand questions he’s just dying to ask, but Leonard Snart always knew how to be discreet. “Sure.” But his eyes are still narrowed at her over his coffee when he slouches back in his seat. “So. Media outlet, huh? Impressive. How’s it going?”

“Oh, no.” She folds her arms, glaring. “We’re not _socializing,_ Snart. I want to know what you’re doing, who you’re on the run from, and what you know. The Citizen has a reputation to protect. We can’t be getting mixed up in… whatever you’ve got yourself into.”

He makes a show of looking out of the window. “‘We,’ huh? Citizen’s not a solo operation, then. Where’s your backup, Iris?” He tuts. “Never go undercover without backup.”

Trying not to bristle, Iris says, “My colleagues were busy tonight.” This is not a lie. Kamilla’s away visiting Cisco in National City. Allegra, who's in a bowling league, of all things, is playing in some kind of Central City-Coast City showdown. “And I was... excited to get stuck in.”

She mentally kicks herself. Leonard Snart, of all people, does not need to know that work is the only thing she currently has in her life.

He grins, pointing a finger at her. Iris is tempted to slap it away, but she manages to restrain herself. “Why so excited, Iris? This is hardly your first big story. I was reading your stuff on the Flash years ago.” 

Of course he was. She thinks about quoting back the line he used on her once, about her _nice prose style..._ but that just makes her remember a certain speedster flashing him up against a fireplace, and she’d rather not.

His thoughts seem to have gone in another direction. He tilts his head, as if reluctantly conceding a point. “You’re a damn good journalist.”

“I’m a very _experienced_ journalist, too, thank you.” She leans towards him, hoping she’s creating an air of conspiracy. “But this is a big story.” She taps the side of her nose.

Len rolls his head along with his eyes, and does he always have to be so melodramatic? “A shadowy organization creating and exploiting metahumans? I’d say so.”

_Damn it._

Iris bumps her head gently on the tabletop a couple of times. “You’re looking into the same operation I am.”

When she lifts her head again, he’s smirking at her. “Wanna combine our forces?” He winks at her. “We could be unstoppable.”

She’s torn between snapping at him to fuck right off, and being just a little tempted by the idea.

He glances outside again, biting a lip, just for a second. It’s odd, watching his mask slip. She wonders if something about this mission is personal for him.

And then Captain Cold is back. He doesn’t need the parka or even the cold gun for that, slouching back with one arm hooked over the back of his chair, bright eyes twinkling with the thrill of the game.

Iris’s brain switches back on. This is _Leonard Snart._ The killer. The supervillain. The guy who double-crossed Barry over and over. Never mind that she’s investigating the mob, and can’t be seen working with an ex-mobster. He may be playing the hero right now - he’s probably had his priorities shaken up by his temporary death - but he doesn’t _mean_ any of it.

And anyway, this is her story. He doesn’t get to run this show.

She stands up, her focus already shifting to the big window beside them. “Sorry, Leonard.” She tugs her purse up over her arm. “I don’t work with villains.”

“Suit yourself,” he says with a shrug, in an almost convincing performance of indifference. But he gives himself away when he adds, “They shot at you, Iris. They have your license plate number. You gotta report this.”

She’s almost touched by the concern, but she can take care of herself. “This isn’t the first time a shady organization has come after me, Leonard. I’m not losing my story by getting the police involved. I’ll be fine.”

But as she turns away, she catches sight of him reflected in the window. His trademark smirk has slipped away, and there’s something sad in his eyes.

Iris is not about to tell him she knows the feeling, but...

She turns around. Pulls out her phone and pushes it across the table to him. “Put your number in.” 

He raises an eyebrow.

“One phone call,” she clarifies. “We can catch each other up on what we both know about this meta trafficking operation.” When his eyes light up triumphantly, she repeats, _“One_ phone call.”

She can feel him smirking at her through the window, all the way back to her car.

* * *

  
Leonard was never a fan of Amunet Black. Even before she acquired those creepy metal-manipulation powers and got into human trafficking, she was doing some shady shit. There was a time when he wouldn't have set foot inside her base if there was a diamond in it for him. 

Times change.

But she won’t give anything away - or she really doesn’t know anything. Either way, Blacksmith turns out to be just one more waste of his time. 

He’s tired of making no progress. He keeps thinking about calling his employers and telling them to shove this assignment up their collective nerd asses. And if it weren’t for the guy in charge, he might have done just that already. But every time he comes close to picking up the phone to tell them to find someone else to do their dirty work, Leonard finds that he can’t let _him_ down. 

Which leaves him trying not to wonder who he is and what happened to the old Leonard Snart.

He goes back to his motel room and glares at it. He makes a dozen plans for the evening, deciding against all of them. Saints and Sinners no longer attracts the crowd he used to know; most the crews he used to run with have long moved on to more lucrative prospects; and it’s not like there were ever many people in this city he could call friends. 

He’s sprawled out on the lumpy bed, tuning out whatever C-list movie is playing on cable, when his phone starts buzzing insistently. Reaching for it, he chuckles when he remembers there’s only one person who has this number.

Her graceful, easy voice says, “Hello, Leonard.” 

“Iris.” He’s glad she can’t see him, already smiling. “Still pretending we’re not working together?”

Her laugh is musical. “I sure am. But if you’ve got information for me, I won’t turn it down.”

Briefly, he wonders if she remembers who she’s talking to. He has no idea why he’s still taking her calls… but she’s nothing if not entertaining. He stretches out against the headboard, embracing the phone between his head and shoulder. “Not sure you’re right about Amunet Black. Feels like she ain’t involved.” 

Damn, he’d meant to make Iris work for that intel. Ah well.

She hums. “I'm not so sure.”

“Then she’s doing a good impression of someone who’s ready to murder whoever _is_ behind it with her bare hands.”

“Hmm.”

The next stretch of silence is almost comfortable.

“How’s motel life?” she asks. “Are you still living on takeout?”

Leonard looks around the bare room, his gaze landing on the sad little pile of vending machine candy bar wrappers on the nightstand. “Takeout would taste like fine dining right about now.”

“Maybe I should come over there and we can order in,” she says. There’s an unexpected purr in her voice, but he doesn’t rise to the bait. He doesn’t know how serious she is. “How long till the Legends pick you up, again?”

He doesn’t answer that question.

They lapse into chat that’s got nothing to do with work. She makes him laugh, more than once, and soon there’s a warmth curling in his belly that he hasn’t felt in a long time. By the time he hangs up, he’s forgotten that she offered no information of her own in return for his. _Again._

Cute.

* * *

  
Leonard hesitates on the threshold to the big room at the centre of the office building, pulling on his sleek, scratchy suit jacket. 

God, he really hates Amunet Black. And the party just beyond those open doors, thronging with pretty, well-to-do people, is all about her. She’s really come up in this town. He swears that’s not jealousy that spikes in his gut, as he stands and watches from just outside the door.

“Champagne, sir?” 

With a single, smooth gesture, he swipes the glass from the tray like a wallet from a pocket, and steps into the room. He joins the crowd of people moving in obscure but intentional patterns. The dance has begun, and he’s very good at it.

It’s not long before he’s leaning against a high table, charming an older man whose name, Reginald Poole Jr, is the only interesting thing about him. Len carefully times his touches and smiles, ignoring the churning in his stomach that comes with this particular aspect of his work. The target might be pretty, but Leonard has not missed this.

Poole is droning on about his business. Leonard’s distracted eyes scan the room, pausing on a stunning woman in a red dress. She has her back turned to him, but her figure could cut ice, her gorgeous long hair falling in dark waves across her sleek back. In the room full of dull wheeler-dealers and vapid party people, she stands out like a ruby in the mud.

And then she turns around.

_This should be fun._

“Art, yes,” the unbearably dull Poole is saying, as Leonard tunes back in, “but I trade other things, too. The _commodity_ is mostly irrelevant.” The guy looks Leonard up and down in a way that would have been deeply uncomfortable, if he weren’t so used to honeypotting. “Care to join me over at the bar, Mr Wynters?” Poole asks. “We can discuss _business_ in more detail.”

Under the table, the guy grabs Leonard’s ass.

Leonard has always had sharp reflexes. He takes a step back before he’s processed the situation. Less than a second later, his mind kicks in fast enough to make a speedster jealous, weighing risk against reward. He still needs to know if this guy is connected to the operation he’s investigating. 

So he schools his face into a smile, and returns to his place by the table. “Tell me more about these _commodities_ you trade,” he says. He doesn’t have to enjoy this game to play it like a pro.

“Oh, nice to see you again,” says a voice he knows, and Iris steps up beside the table. She lays a warm hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight, invisible squeeze as she offers her other hand to Reginald Poole Jr. Leonard’s never been more pleased to see a friend. He’s impressed when she doesn’t flinch as Poole kisses her offered hand. “Esther North,” she says. 

Poole’s eyes are raking up and down Iris’s dress in a way that makes Leonard want to rip them out of his head. “Lovely to meet you, Miss North,” Poole says, voice dripping with the smarmy thoughts he’s thinking a little too loudly. “Friend of Lawrence here, are you?”

Iris tilts her head. That wry smile is just for him. “Lawrence and I go way back. He was quite the _business_ _rival_ of an old friend of mine, weren’t you, Lawrence?”

“Oh yeah. He gave me a real run for my money.” It’s very satisfying to watch Iris trying not to laugh at that one.

“And what do you do?” Poole is asking her, practically drooling now.

“I’m an independent consultant. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Everyone has.” Now it’s Leonard’s turn to try not to laugh. “Anyway,” she says, hooking her arm into Leonard’s with possessive flair, “I thought I’d rescue Lawrence here from his boring business dealings. I’m just so keen to catch up - I’m sure you understand. But I’d love to hear about your business later, Mr. Poole.” 

As they walk away, Leonard whispers in her ear, “Open bar means I can’t offer to buy you one now, but sometime soon I owe you a drink for _that_ piece of classic theater.”

She really does have a gorgeous laugh. If he keeps a light hand on her back, it’s just to ensure no one intercepts either of them between here and the bar.

They sit together at the bar, glasses of Merlot in hand, and he’s breathing easier as she talks nonsense to him under the guise of their cover stories. “So tell me about yourself, _Esther._ What does an independent consultant do, exactly?”

Her playful smile says she’s enjoying the game more than he expected. “I _investigate_ situations for my clients. Assess risks, evaluate business decisions… that sort of thing.” She takes a sip of wine, bouncing her eyebrows at him.

Her sleek, perfectly-manicured hand is resting on the bar. He lets his own settle next to it, till their little fingers are just barely touching. Her breath catches as they touch. And, God, Leonard suddenly can’t decide if he wants to wreck her, or just let her play him, and see where the game goes. “And are you assessing any interesting risks at the moment, Esther?”

As he reaches out to catch a drop of wine running down the edge of her glass, his thigh touches hers, and she freezes. He pulls away immediately. But when their eyes meet, she doesn’t look uncomfortable. She has her head tilted towards him, smiling a little. He’s willing to bet she’s intrigued.

_Interesting._

Her expression settles back into cool detachment quickly enough, and she goes right back into her cover persona. “There are a few potential deals I’m looking into, yes.” And then her eyes drift right, to the doors leading out to the elevators, and Leonard realises she’s been glancing that way for the whole of their conversation.

She’s looking for something, and it’s here, in this building. She’s damn well ahead of him. Again.

He takes a swig of wine. _“Esther,_ I think we could be good for each other. I’d like to spend a little more time with you. Get to know you better.” He watches her pupils dilate as he moves into her space. Low enough that only she will hear, he says, “Whaddya say we get out of here and talk about it?”

She leans in a little closer. Her breath is warm on his face, fragrant with wine and bad intentions. He feels his heart rate surge several beats per minute, and he forces himself not to step backwards in surprise. Iris whispers, “Are you sure you know what you’re getting into, _Lawrence?_ ” She pulls away, adding, aloud, “Thanks for the drink. It was fun.”

And she’s gone, sweeping out in the direction of the main exit, leaving Leonard trying to catch his breath.

He makes a half-hearted effort to look for Poole again, but the bastard's already left. 

Leonard goes back to his crummy motel room. He has no more real leads. He needs Iris West, but he’ll be fucked if he’s going to ask her again. Cursing the universe that saw fit to drop him back into _this_ life, he picks up his buzzing phone.

“That was fun,” her voice purrs.

“So you said.” He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. The stucco is ancient and turning yellow. “You’re an asshole, West.” That lovely laugh is all he gets in reply. He shifts on the bed, stretching out his legs, grinning even though she can’t see him. “So, what did you learn?”

She lets him in on one or two little secrets about her investigation. Then they talk for hours - about everything except the story. The later it gets, the deeper they go. Neither of them lets a single detail slip, and yet they say everything.

*

“Funniest childhood story.”

“Uh… the day my dad had to take me to work because my babysitter got sick, back when he was a uniformed officer, and I managed to lock his partner in the cells and then threw up on his captain’s shoes.”

“Hmm. Not bad.”

“You?”

A tight shrug, invisible to her. “The best ones are about Lisa, not me.”

“Of course they are. You really love her, don’t you?”

He tuts loud enough that she’ll hear it. “Iris. Must you be so touchy-feely?”

“Sure, keep pretending you don’t have a heart, you old liar.”

“That’s me.”

“Okay then,” she says, like she doesn’t believe him.

“...Yes.” 

“Huh?”

“Yes, I love her.”

*

“How’s Mick?” 

It’s not like he hasn’t been expecting that one. “Don’t know.”

A beat. “Don’t you work together?”

“That’s a _complicated_ question.”

“Right.” She pauses. “You miss him?”

“...Yes.”

*

His curiosity inevitably gets the better of him. “And how’s Barry?”

That’s not a comfortable pause.

“Come on,” he pushes. “I answered your ridiculous touchy-feely questions.”

“I told you how he is.”

“No, you told me where he works.”

He can almost hear her shrug. “He’s happy.”

“You miss him?”

The silence says everything she won’t.

*

All that _connecting,_ and she still won’t agree to work with him. He’s starting to think he’s gonna need a miracle.

* * *

  
And then he gets one.

Two weeks later he awakens into another dark motel room. The hairs on the back of his neck are all standing on end, his perennial internal warning system wailing like a siren in his head. 

Blinking into the darkness, he can just make out a shadowy figure in the room with him.

Then there’s a hood over his head and a needle in his arm.

The last thing he remembers thinking is _Iris._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! See end notes for which part to avoid if you prefer not to read smut.

Iris doesn’t know what possessed her, once she’d swooped in and rescued Leonard Snart, to follow his orders and take him to a motel in a run-down suburb of Keystone. She has no doubt he can take care of himself, but something has her offering to come in with him. And he doesn’t exactly discourage her.

Now she stares around at the drab decor, all mottling 80s wallpaper and peeling fake-mahogany laminate. “This is where you’ve been staying?”

Leonard, who has refused her help cleaning up, is standing just inside the tiny bathroom, dabbing at his cut lip with something from a first aid kit he pulled off the back of his motorcycle. Iris is trying not to let the existence of the substantial kit worry her. He glances over his shoulder to raise an eyebrow in her direction. “No, the Hilton, but I wanted something a little more upscale,” he deadpans, then rolls his eyes when she takes a minute to catch up. “I was staying in Central. They’ll have eyes on the place now.” He turns back to the mirror. “You should be thanking me.”

She snorts. “For making me rescue you?”

He chuckles, grinning at her in the mirror. “Proved it’s a meta trafficking operation, didn’t I? Figure you owe me now.”

She snorts, shaking her head in despair she doesn’t really feel. “You’re really determined to work together on this, aren’t you?”

Leonard waves a hand to indicate his beaten-up face. “Well. I did go to all this trouble.”

She snorts, marching in beside him and ripping the bandage out of his hand. “Give that here - you’re aiming for the wrong eye.”

He doesn’t resist as she places it gently over the cut above his eye. If anything, his grin turns soft. He’s looking at her like she’s his hero. “Thanks for rescuing the damsel in distress,” he murmurs.

Iris ignores the ridiculous thought that Leonard Snart is a little more infatuated with her than she had first realised. She takes a quick step back, wrapping her arms around herself. “Did you see much?” 

He shakes his head in the mirror, a distant look in his eyes. She wonders if the attack has left him feeling vulnerable, but rejects that as implausible. Still, the idea that Leonard Snart could be interested in her as more than a professional challenge had seemed implausible till a minute ago, too. “Blindfolded the whole time,” he’s saying, his brow wrinkled in thought. “It was almost like they let you get me out of there. Almost like...”

She raises an eyebrow at him as she realises what he’s getting at. “Like they wanted me to rescue you.”

“Wasn’t even about me. I was a warning. For you.” He slams down the first aid kit on the edge of the sink. A few rolls of bandages bounce out onto the floor. “Fantastic.”

She has a sudden urge to hug him - where the hell did that come from? - but there’s no way he’d put up with that. So she reaches over to pat his cheek, under the guise of checking the bandage, leaving her hand there a moment. Just so she can look him in the eye. “Leonard, are you gonna tell me how you’re involved in all of this now?”

His Captain Cold mask is back - he’s smirking slightly in that exasperating way of his. “You first.”

She has to fight not to smile in reply. She’s still got her hand on his cheek, she realises, and pulls away. He meets her eyes with a rare sincere look, and suddenly she can’t find her voice. Neither can he, if the charged silence in the room is anything to go by. 

He clears his throat. “Why'd you come for me, Iris?” 

“I saw you were in trouble.” She busies herself with closing up the first aid kit. “I’ve been watching that warehouse.”

He clicks his fingers, his face bright and delighted. “You bugged the place.”

“Close enough.” She can’t help reflecting that infectious grin back at him. “I’ve still got a few friends with useful skills. We may have hacked the CCTV camera at the entrance.” 

She’s standing so dangerously close that she can feel him breathing, but something keeps her from moving away. Now he’s watching her as if she’s a puzzle he wants to solve. She feels like no one’s been this captivated by her in a long time. 

She likes it.

Done with the first aid kit, she walks back through to the bedroom. He follows, sitting on the bed at a safer distance from her. “And why can’t you just swoop in with the STAR Labs nerd squad and save the day?” He adds a sweeping hand gesture for emphasis.

For a minute, she thinks he’s mocking her. Then she remembers. “You really have been out of the loop, haven’t you? Barry sold STAR Labs to Mercury. About a year ago.” She pretends it doesn’t still hurt to talk about. 

Leonard, who was always too perceptive for his own good, is threatening another smirk. If he goes there, she’ll wipe it off his damn face. Ralph wasn’t the only one always pointing out her impressive right hook. “Is that so?” he drawls.

“Yup.” 

He gets up abruptly - was it the mention of Barry? - and offers her a drink from the mini bar. She almost teases, _Really, Leonard? How tacky,_ but she’s too tired for snark, and just shakes her head. He shrugs and pours something for himself. 

“The team went their separate ways,” she says, only giving him more details to fill the silence. “Vibe’s off in National City with the DEO. Frost and Caitlin work for ARGUS. They all try to keep in touch, but...” She shrugs, already done with talking about the friends she misses. “Besides, none of the Justice League are exactly subtle. If they rush in and blow my cover, I’ll risk losing the whole story - months of work. And it won’t help. The key players will just go back underground and start again.”

Leonard has gained that distant look again, that she can’t read.

Iris takes a breath. “When can we go back in? We’ve identified at least one of their bases now—”

He puts up a hand, and she stops up short. He leans back against the desk, watching her. It’s uncomfortable, but she makes herself hold his knowing gaze. “Iris, you don't just walk into a den of thieves without a plan. And I should know.” His eyes drift to the door. “Gotta move on again soon.”

Iris makes a split-second decision that, later, she’ll realise means she’s trusted him all along. “Okay,” she says. “We’ll do this your way.” She points a finger at him. “But you are not getting behind the wheel of a car right now. You could have a concussion.”

His eyes are on the window. “Fine,” he mutters. “Doesn’t look like they’ve followed us.” He turns his sharp eyes back in her direction, and they linger on her. “You’re not going back out there either.”

It makes something flutter in her chest like she’s a clueless twenty-something who doesn’t know she’s in love... again. _Pull yourself together, West._

“Sure,” she agrees reluctantly. “Then we should sleep, and figure this out tomorrow.” She glares at the peeling faux leather armchair by the bed.

Leonard follows her gaze and holds up a hand. “It’s cold, Iris.” He pauses. “You take the bed.”

Iris feels her eyes roll. “We’re grown-ups, Leonard. Neither of us has to be uncomfortable. We can share.”

His eyebrows go up, but he doesn’t disagree, and they eventually settle side by side under the blankets. She’s never know Leonard Snart to be lost for words, but he suddenly turns awkwardly taciturn. “G’night,” she murmurs to the wall, and gets nothing but a _mm_ back.

Leonard wasn’t wrong about the cold. In the chill of night, the temperature in the room drops so much she wonders if he’s hidden his gun around here somewhere. Shivering hard, Iris tugs the flimsy blankets tighter around herself. 

“Come ‘ere,” he mutters. In his sleepy haze, that drawl becomes kind of adorable. He pulls her towards him. 

She feels herself freeze for a second. “You better not have cold feet.” 

He doesn’t. For a guy who was once known as Captain Cold, he’s warm enough that she can’t help sighing as she curls into his side. “But just because it’s chilly,” she adds.

“Sure,” he murmurs, and a warm, strong pair of arms wrap around her like a blanket.

In moments, Iris has drifted back to sleep.

* * *

  
In the morning, Leonard is alone in the bed. 

He glances at his watch, and waits. 

Twenty-seven seconds later, the phone buzzes. He lets it go six rings before he picks it up, just to annoy her. “Is the intrepid reporter back watching that damn warehouse again?”

“So what if I am?”

He growls. “You’d better be safe.”

She laughs down the phone at him.

They talk about nothing for an hour.

* * *

  
He doesn’t see her again for a few days.

Leonard’s got his head in one more shitty mini bar, bemoaning the terrible selection, when the door flies open, and he jumps back halfway across the room. His already-alight nerves are fraying apart waiting for the axe to fall. He’s hit nothing but dead ends looking for his kidnappers, or the organization they work for.

While he finds his cool again, Iris is regarding him from the doorway, eyebrows raised. “Been a while since you’ve seen anyone, has it, Leonard?”

He folds his arms, matching her wry look. “Coming in?”

This time, he doesn’t even have to try to persuade her. She lays out a pile of printed papers - no doubt to prevent herself being hacked - on the desk. A girlish grin peeks out as she says, in a gloating tone, “I know who we’re chasing. Told you I’d get there first.”

He’s at her side in a moment, leaning over the desk, whistling low. _“Damn,_ Iris. You even have their name.” 

Nodding, she passes him a file. “I think we’re looking for an old research lab. They were called the Metahuman Analysis Research Institute. They disappeared off the books a few years ago.” She shuffles through another stack of papers. “Here. There’s one or two references to a MARI in these. My source mentioned the acronym, too.”

Her hip brushes his, and his breath hitches. She doesn’t seem to notice, too enchanted by her research. She’s beautiful like this, buried as deep in her work as he ever was in his own planning. He clears his throat. “That’s not the name of a shady metahuman trafficking org. Sounds more like an academic outfit.”

“Scientific, yeah.” She slides another sheet of paper across the desk. “I think they fell foul of regulations and went underground. But even their above-board work wasn't exactly ethical.” Her lip curls up into a sneer. “I think they started experimenting on metas the month the particle accelerator went online.”

“Huh.” He’s reading, his hands bracing him on either side of the desk. This is the kind of expert planning he hasn’t seen in years. _Quite a mind you’ve got there, Iris,_ he almost says, only deterred by the formidable expression on her face. What an asset she would have made to the Rogues.

“And…” She reaches across him, and he gets an aromatic whiff of her tasteful perfume. He forces himself to focus as she points to a list. “This name keeps turning up,” she says with a triumphant smile.

He groans at his own lack of attention to detail. “Of course.”

She taps the place on the map that she’s marked as the metahuman research facility. Leonard glares at the euphemism - that’s a torture chamber. He looks closer with a thrill of recognition, seeing that it’s the office building where he met Iris at the party, the night she rescued him from unwanted advances. 

He can’t believe he missed so many obvious leads. And, glancing back up at Iris, he knows exactly why he did.

She’s tapping an impatient finger on the map. “So can we storm the castle? Those are _people_ they’ve got in there, Leonard.”

He always admired her sense of justice, even if it was a little naive and idealistic when she was younger. It shone through the pages of every article of hers that he read. And he read a lot of them. But he shakes his head. “Missing the point, aren’t we, Iris? You said it. They’ve got metahumans in there. Which means people with superpowers under their thumb.” As she takes a breath to protest, he lays a hand on her shoulder. “Hate to admit it, but we’re gonna need help from the Justice Losers.”

She glares, silent while she sweeps up the papers. “All right,” she mutters. “I’ll call them tomorrow.” 

She’s at the door of the tiny room in a couple of paces. But she pauses with her hand on the door handle, looking back. 

Finally, there’s that click in Leonard’s brain, the one he’s spent his life chasing, when the pieces of the puzzle snap together into a picture. All these late night phone calls. All this protesting that she doesn’t want to work with him, and yet running into him every chance she gets. 

Iris West is lonely.

Once, Leonard would have taken advantage of that fact. He can’t quite bring himself to now. Says a lot about how far he’s come - or fallen. 

He shakes a tiny bottle of Jack Daniels at her. “Nightcap?”

Okay, maybe just a _little_ advantage. 

But it’s not like she takes much convincing. She closes the door again. “Nightcap sounds good.”

* * *

  
He’d forgotten how stimulating this could be - exploring every part of someone he finds so intriguing. It’s been a long time. 

Her fingers attentively tracing the sharp outline of his abs, the gentle curve of his belly, the marks on his skin. His tongue seeking out all the places where she’s soft, buried deep beneath the hard shell she wears like armor. Her hands tugging him in, set demanding on his shoulders while he’s tasting her folds, teasing her clit, diving in hard when she opens for him like a safe he’s cracked. There’s something more than thrilling about making Iris West _feel_ , when her eager body tells him it’s been a long time for her too. When she comes, sharp and fierce but never letting go entirely, their eyes meet and she smiles.

He slides back up next to her, giving her a minute. Then, running his hand across her damp forehead, he asks “May I…?” and she winks, rolling on top of him. When he pushes up and in, he gets the distinct sense that she’s only allowing exactly what she wants. And, hell, he’s more than happy to provide, for someone this gorgeous, driven and challenging. She peaks again a moment after he does, and she rolls back down beside him, panting contentedly.

Iris reaches out her hand, seeking his in the dark. Leonard does something he never does, and takes it.

Afterwards, still _holding hands_ with the woman he’s just fucked, like they’re teenagers in love, he stretches out against the headboard and asks, “Why did Barry leave?”

God, he loves it when she laughs. “Leonard Snart, you are incorrigible.” She tilts her head at him, and he can see it - she’s a lot like him. She’s got an image to maintain, but she’ll let him push through it. “Did you think I’d just give away all my secrets now that we’ve done the deed?” Her eyes widen playfully as she emphasises the last words.

He’s smirking as he stares down at her fingers, linked with his. “You think an old thief won’t use all his _cunning_ to his advantage, Iris?” It’s not playing her if she lets herself be played. There are things he’s not telling her, too - she must know that - but she doesn’t seem to care.

“I told you. Barry got a promotion.” Her gaze is distant, but she doesn’t let go of his hand. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

She shrugs. “Did you hear about his six months in the Speed Force?”

Iris fills him in, a story pouring out of her that’s more anger and pain than specifics, but he didn’t need the detail anyway. The words _He left us_ seem to echo, hanging between them, at the end.

“You,” he corrects, after a moment of quiet.

She glances up. “Huh?”

“He left _you.”_ At some point during the story, his arm has fallen across her shoulders, and she’s curled into his side.

Her hard eyes are focused on the blank wall opposite. “Yeah. Twice. I know it was a life-changing experience for him, but… After he came out of the Speed Force, nothing was the same. Not with Team Flash. Not with me.” 

He suddenly wants to tell her he’s sorry, but he can’t imagine that would go down well.

She sighs. “He was my best friend.” The past tense is palpable - even without the words she doesn’t say, about what else he might have been. “He hasn’t called since he left. Things got rough between us there, and I guess he... I get emails sometimes.” She yawns. “None of them call enough. Not even Wally - he tries, but he’s so busy in the Peace Corps…”

Her face is shadowed by that loneliness again. No point in telling her that he knows the feeling. The temptation of sleep in her voice gives away the reason why she’s opening up this much to a near-stranger. He’s not naive enough to think that he’s any more than that, even now. So, when she murmurs, “You haven’t even told me what’s been going on with you,” he shakes his head. He just encourages her down under the blankets, as gently as he can manage.

Maybe he rests his hand on her cheek a little longer than is strictly necessary, but she’s too close to sleep to notice.

He wakes up alone in the morning, and dumps her screwed-up note in the bathroom trash can.

* * *

  
The next day, he gets on the road and drives a few miles to an even shoddier dive of a motel. He flirts briefly with the receptionist, waiting till he’s sprawled out on the bed before going through her wallet. He ends up glaring at another identical yellowing stucco ceiling. 

His phone on the nightstand catches his eye. There’s exactly one person who has his number. No one else who’d want to hear from him. 

This time, staring at the phone fails to make it ring. This shouldn’t surprise him, but it leaves cold anger hardening in his chest. It’s a minute before he realises she’s not the one he’s angry at. He’s been too easily distracted. He let messy feelings get in the way of his work - something he never allows.

He’s been too hung up on… more than one person.

He drifts asleep with some shitty 90s TV comedy droning on and on in the background. It’s an appropriate soundtrack for his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re avoiding the smut, it starts at “He’d forgotten how good this could be” and ends at “Iris reaches out her hand, seeking his in the dark.” You won’t miss any plot if you skip it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who's read and commented! See end notes if you're avoiding smut/similar.

There's no sign of Iris for over a week. All his leads have gone cold. Leonard is just about ready to give up, tell his employers to give him a new assignment, and chalk this one up as a failure.

It’s clear she’s done working with him.

...Done _with_ him. 

In the latest dreary motel room, he drags his sad little kit bag from off the bed. He’s even sprung for a Best Western this time, and it still doesn’t even have a damn window. He’s seriously thinking about getting back into crime. His old safe houses were more homely than this.

And then his phone buzzes.

Leonard takes a deep breath, and answers with a very cool, “Iris. To what do I owe the unexpected pleasure? Need another hookup, perhaps?” 

“Not now, Leonard,” she says in a panicked voice, and he sits down on the bed. He’s never heard Iris West scared before. 

_“Chill,_ Iris.” He ignores her exasperated tut. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s Barry. He went into the MARI base and he hasn’t come out again.”

Everything freezes. “What?”

She’s talking fast and desperate. “I took your advice, sent him a message. He said he’d be in and out in minutes with the last information I needed.”

He puts his head in his hands. “You didn’t talk to him.”

“No.”

“You got all caught up in your repressed feelings about him, and you didn’t _plan.”_

She huffs down the phone. _“No,_ okay? I let him go rushing in there, probably with his usual finesse...” 

Leonard can’t let himself think - he has to make the plan. “And now they have the Flash,” he drawls, hating his defensive tone more with every word. He doesn’t know if it’s about Iris, or Barry. “So we alert the lab he works for.”

She pauses. “The CSI lab at Ivy Town PD?”

If she could see him, he’d be making a face at her. “No, Iris. The lab he runs on his _off hours.”_ There’s no time to worry about how he’s going to explain his familiarity with Barry’s continuing extra-curricular activities. There’s no time for anything.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “He was doing this as a personal favor. And I don’t know if the young metas he trains at Ivy Labs are up to it. No, we need someone more experienced.”

Well, that was direct. All their weeks of dancing around the topic, and she already knows he’s aware of Barry’s work. He really has underestimated her.

And for the first time since all of this started, she says the one thing he knows she’s been trying so hard not to. “Help me.”

He can’t suppress the chuckle. “Now, was that so hard?”

“I’ve saved your ass at least twice,” she mutters. “You owe me.” 

He takes his time with his reply. “Not _quite_ sure that’s where the debt lies anymore.” There’s silence. When she doesn’t answer, he fills it. “How do you wanna play this?”

* * *

  
He’s standing outside the Hall of Justice.

He’s standing outside the Hall of _fucking_ Justice, and Iris is watching him from just inside, with one eyebrow raised like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “Well?” she says.

Inclining his head towards the darkened, hallowed halls, he asks, “How many?”

She’s trying not to smile - he can see it. “How many what, Leonard?”

He grits his teeth. “How many _heroes,_ Iris?”

She grins, and offers him her lovely hand. “Hardly any. Promise.”

Finally, Leonard lets her pull him inside the wretched place. “Was that so hard?” she asks wryly.

“I hate you,” he growls.

The grin on her face softens. “Nah, you don’t.”

...No, he doesn’t.

* * *

The small contingent of minor Justice League heroes all turn out to be pretty good at their jobs, though they’re no less annoying than the A-listers. While Nia Nal is a fairly impressive badass, Leonard would _really_ like to kick Ralph Dibny’s smarmy rubber ass just to see how far the guy bounces.

* * *

Barry’s fine.

Leonard excuses himself so he can take a minute to remember how to breathe. 

The heroes are too busy arguing to notice, raised voices debating whether they should whisk the speedster off to some ARGUS facility in Star City. Apparently it’s got wall-to-wall medical tech and one Caitlin Snow at the helm. From where he’s hanging out behind a pillar, Leonard overhears Barry protesting that his own lab in Ivy Town is perfectly capable of checking him out.

Leonard doesn’t go back, slipping out while Barry and Iris are saying goodbye. Or possibly having an epic reunion. He’s not sure he wants to know which.

To get to his bike, he has to walk all the way past that stupid fake lake with the fountain in the middle that takes up acres of potential prime parking real estate, lit by bright lanterns with ridiculous superhero branding on them. Whoever designed this place was not making sound financial decisions. But why would he expect any better from heroes?

He doesn’t miss the lightning, streaking just ahead of him. “Hey,” says an achingly familiar voice.

Leonard closes his eyes. “Hello, Flash.”

And opens them again. A grinning Barry is sitting, cowl down, on the raised edge of the fountain. Leonard pretends he’s not relieved to see that the Flash suit is intact and, presumably, the Flash with it. “Miss me?” Barry chirps, with that none-too-subtle smug grin that Leonard never gets to avoid, anytime they meet.

Rolling his eyes, Leonard says, “Get to the point, Barry. I’m trying to get out of here before the Jack-off League converts me to the good fight.”

Barry laughs and holds out a hand. “You’ve got intel for me?”

He nods and holds out a folder, pulling it out of reach when Barry goes to grab it. “I trust Ivy Labs will shut this thing down before any more metas get hurt?” 

An exasperated Barry uses his speed to snatch it back, speed-reading through it. He glances up when he gets to the good bit. “Amunet Black?” 

“Yup. Her black market connections, their military links and research tech… Match made in hell. With a Blacksmith stoking the fires.” 

Barry shakes his head. “And they got wind of Iris’s investigation, and kidnapped you. And then me - all to try and make her stop digging.” 

Leonard huffs. “Couldn’t get to her, though. No one touches the great Iris West.” He’s aiming for snark, but it comes out softer and more proud than he intends. 

Barry looks up at his tone and… smiles. _Huh._ He rubs the back of his neck. “Look, I’m sorry we didn’t realise this mission was so dangerous.”

Leonard chuckles, glancing away to the clear night skies around them. “Please. You and the nerd squad didn’t even think the organization _existed.”_

“Well, you didn’t check in to tell us it did!”

Holding up a hand, Leonard says, “Let’s just admit we all screwed up.” He grimaces for effect. “Even me.” He nods at the file. “You got your intel, didn’t you, Barry?”

The Scarlet Speedster’s eyes are too sincere, holding up the folder. “Thank you, Leonard. Between this and what Iris has found for the Citizen, we’ve got everything we need to make sure they never hurt another metahuman.”

Leonard fights the urge to look away. “Good. And you can tell Ivy Labs this is the last job I’m doing for them.” Barry raises his eyebrows; Leonard just shrugs. “That’s some admirable work you’re doing there with young metas, but I’m not your spy, Barry. I’m bored. And a bored Captain Cold is a dangerous Captain Cold. Perhaps you remember.” Barry grins, a little too indulgently, and Leonard has a sudden urge to remind him who he’s talking to. He stretches his arms out above his head. “Maybe I’ll go back to the criminal life. I miss the thrill of a good heist.”

“Sure you do.” Barry’s tone is fondly sarcastic and _very_ irritating.

Leonard inclines his head towards the Hall of Justice. “Go back and finish saying goodbye to your best friend.” He cocks an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think you owe her that?”

“She’s coming with me so she can brief Ivy Labs on this organization,” Barry says, his gaze dropping back to the folder. “She’s insisting on pressing ‘publish’ on her story before we, and I quote, ‘go rushing in to shut them down and get our asses handed to us again.’ She thinks her story can do them more long-term damage than we can.” 

Barry’s grin is indulgent. Leonard ignores how that makes his cold little heart clench in his chest. For a moment, he’s not sure which of them he’s jealous of. “Iris is right. She’s one hell of a reporter.”

Barry is watching him with that odd look again - sad and hopeful at once. “I came to give you some advice about her, actually.”

“Did you?” Leonard has never drawled so hard in his life.

A flicker of lightning. A soft hand on his arm, and he looks up into the speedster‘s very serious face. “Don’t screw it up. She deserves better.” His forehead creases above sad eyes. “Trust me on that.”

“Shovel talk?” Leonard feels his eyes narrow. “Really, Barry? You’d better be giving her one too.” 

“Of course. I know her pretty well, too.” Barry’s smile is soft. Whether it’s for him or Iris, Leonard doesn’t know.

Leonard glances back towards the Hall. “Don’t know if she’s even interested.”

Barry’s eyes find the ground, his foot scrubbing around in the greenery. “I happen to know what she’s like when she’s into someone and won’t let herself admit it.”

There are stories he’s not telling there, stories that go deeper than Iris’s characterization of Barry as her best friend. But Leonard would be asking the wrong person. 

As ever when he works with Barry, there are other things they aren't saying, too. That they never say. But that’s probably for the best.

“Gotta go,” Barry says. “Patty’s making stir fried duck tonight. You should come to Ivy Town sometime and try her incredible cooking.”

Leonard just has to get in one last dig. “Your life is awfully dull, Flash.”

Barry grins. “Isn’t it?” 

“One might even say… slow.”

He gets the briefest of smirks for that. Then, in a flash, Barry’s gone.

“Goodbye, Barry,” Leonard says softly, when there’s no one left to hear him. 

Then he heads off to find his motorcycle.

* * *

  
Her apartment is a quiet place, these days. Iris refuses to sleep at the Citizen office even when she’s working right through the 24-hour news cycle. So here she is again, writing the follow-up article to her story that brought down a black market metahuman trafficking empire, all from her dining room table. 

She doesn’t look up at the sound of the lock being picked. She’s been expecting him, and she didn’t think he’d knock. “Hi," she says.

"Hello, Iris."

Still without looking up, she asks, "What do you want, Leonard?”

She hears him saunter towards the table, catches sight of that inimitable swagger in the reflection on her laptop screen. She refuses to let herself think that’s hot. “Depends,” he drawls. “What are you offering?”

Iris clears her throat to cover the sigh. If he wants to keep playing games, she can match his bullshit. “Probably more than you can handle, Leonard.”

There’s a fake wince reflected in her screen. “That’s _cold,_ Iris,” he says in the delusional tone of someone who thinks they’re funny.

She doesn’t laugh. “It looked like Barry had some things to say to you. Anything you want to tell me about?”

He gets quieter. “Don’t you think that’s between him and me?”

She taps her foot under the table, irritated at the damn drawl he’s still affecting. “I guess it is.” She glances over her shoulder at him, but his face is giving nothing away. She takes pity on him and throws him a bone. “Did you hear Ivy Labs shut MARI down?” 

“Iris, Iris, Iris. You underestimate your contribution—”

“I really don’t,” she interrupts. “They couldn't have done it without me. After the story dropped, the police swooped in on half the locations I'd identified. In the end, there was barely anything left to shut down." She shoots a quick grin behind her, then turns back to her laptop. "I’m just that good.”

He snorts. And pauses. “So.”

“So,” she agrees. She’s almost curious to see if he’s going to find a backbone. If they both can, they might still have a chance. 

“Then I guess we’re done working together,” he says.

Iris smiles at her tap-tapping hands. “We were never working together, Leonard. But I guess so.”

“It’s been fun,” he drawls, and that’s when she runs out of energy for this game.

And it looks like she's not the only one. She sneaks another look over her shoulder to see him lifting his eyes to the ceiling, dramatic as ever. “Oh, for fuck’s sake— Let's cut the crap, Iris. If you don’t want this thing to be serious, fine, but…” 

She finally turns around, and comes face-to-face with a Leonard who looks faintly constipated. She laughs out loud, a hand at her mouth, before she can stop herself, and he scowls murderously. “Leonard, are you trying to define the relationship? Please stop - it’s clearly hurting you.” 

Chuckling softly, his eyes flicker to the corner of the room... and back to her. 

In an inexplicable fit of courage, she reaches out and lays a hesitant hand on his arm. He echoes her movement just as hesitantly, lifting an agile, long-fingered hand. He brushes her cheek with the same deft skill with which he once lifted the Kahndaq Dynasty Diamond from a museum case. There’s a reverence in his touch, as if she’s even more precious, and her brain can’t quite process that it's for _her._

And then they both stop hesitating. They’re kissing, and he’s taking what he wants like the thief she’s been longing for him to be, his lips firm and possessive, his clever hands grasping at her back, at her ass, her nails raking down his skin under his soft sweater, and _God_ she doesn’t think she’s ever wanted anyone this much.

Somehow they manage to stumble to the couch, and then no one says anything coherent for a while. 

Later, on the couch in front of the fire, cocooned by Leonard’s strong arms and legs, she’s warm, and safer than she’d ever admit to wanting. Maybe that’s why she risks an answer to his earlier comment. “What if I do want this to be serious?” she asks, stroking circles into his firm upper arms.

“What if you do?” His face is reflected in the big mirror over the fireplace. There’s a glint in his eye that says he knows he’s already stolen her. 

She reaches up to trace the line of his jaw with a finger. “The Leonard Snart I used to know… I kind of got the impression he didn’t care about boring things like relationships.”

He chuckles. “People change. Dying, getting resurrected, deciding you don’t fit in on a ship of fools anymore… drifting…” He sighs. “Not many people can relate to the weird shit we’ve lived, or what it’s done to us, Iris.”

“No, they can’t.” She stretches up to kiss him, a soft peck on the lips. She gets a thrill of satisfaction when he smiles, comfortable and guileless, like she’s never seen him before.

Then lonely eyes dart to the left. “Will I always be competing with him?”

Iris arches an eyebrow. “Will _I?”_

Leonard snorts, arms curling tighter around her. “Like I said. Not many people can relate.”

She traces faint scars along the arm draped across her - faded by the years, but never really gone. “No. They can’t,” she repeats.

“I work for him, now and then,” he murmurs. “That’s all.” When she raises an incredulous eyebrow, she just gets a shrug and a furtive glance away. But that’s okay. She can give him time, if he can give her the same.

He stretches, his arms tight around her again in the next moment, and Iris has the uncanny thought that she’s never felt so cherished. By _Leonard Snart._ It’s going to take some getting used to. But it feels right, too, as if they fit together like two broken pieces of a mirror, and she just never saw before how much her shattered pattern reflected his.

“It’s _you_ I wanna be with,” he says into her hair. “Haven’t let myself want anything for a long time. Then one day I was running down the street and saw you sitting in your car and took a chance on you. You’ve been something of an obsession ever since. Iris West, the most challenging puzzle I ever tried to solve.” He takes a slow breath. “What about you, Iris? Gonna run out on me again when things get too real?”

She shakes her head against him. “Not anymore.” Her hand threads into his, across her stomach. “I want you too,” she murmurs. “Overdramatic romantic declarations and all.” 

He laughs and kisses the top of her head. The old sly expression never seems to leave his eyes, but he’s looking at her like he’d steal the world for her.

The fire crackles into the warm, comfortable silence. Tomorrow, Iris will totally blame her deep thoughts on the soporific setting and the empty wine glasses on the table. She knows everything she’s starting to feel for the thief in her arms won’t fill up the emptiness in her overnight. And when he steals into her heart, he won’t push the other people she’s loved and lost out of there. He won’t replace one person in particular. But she wouldn’t want him to.

“I’m gonna need your number,” he drawls.

She laughs, waving a hand behind her at the door. “Leonard, you just broke into my house. I assume you, of all people, have the skills you’d need to find it out yourself.”

Leonard lets out a _hmm._ “Much more fun to wear you down. A challenge, if you will.” 

Iris rolls her eyes. “And we wouldn’t want you to have to live without one of those.” 

“I give you a week before you crack and text it to me,” he says, his tone already triumphant.

He’s wrong. A couple of months later, she cracks and writes it down on the notepad in the kitchen - when he moves in. 

_You win,_ she scrawls underneath.

Later, in careful handwriting, _Does this mean you’ll work with me?_ appears beneath that.

She laughs, throws the note in the trash, and slides into bed next to him.

He leans up on his arm on the pillow, taking her in, and she can’t decide if that’s a smirk or a smile he’s aiming at her. “Wanna get coffee tomorrow?”

“Sure.” She yawns and wriggles in under the covers. She has another thought, and pokes him with a foot. “No superhero-themed drinks.”

“Shame. I was _so_ looking forward to treating you to another Captain Cold.”

Mostly to shut him up, Iris kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments and always reply! Find me [on tumblr here](https://sophiainspace.tumblr.com/).
> 
> It's not _quite_ smut, but to avoid some making out and allusions to sex, skip the bit that starts "And then they both stop hesitating" and re-start reading at "...and then no one says anything coherent for a while". 
> 
> Thanks to ChristineQuizMachine for coming up with a very Len-like insult.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Thette for great beta reading.


End file.
